The Ghost Cab
by LadyPeck
Summary: They say there's a taxi that's been riding the streets of San Francisco since the great quake of 1906. If you're fortunate enough to take a ride in this taxi, it will take you where you need to go, rather than where you think you need to be. Spock, now in his senior year at Starfleet Academy, doesn't believe in any such legends. It would be illogical to put faith in it. Right?


The new kids always got taunted and teased. That was an unspoken rule at every school, on every world, and Starfleet Academy was certainly no different.

Spock had been prepared for it. After all, he'd been bullied his entire life on Vulcan. Why would Earth be any different? But it turned out that it was different. The nastiness, the hatred, the bigotry that had driven the children in school on Vulcan to taunt and tease him was completely absent in the teasing at the Academy. Where he'd suffered almost daily at the hands of Vulcan children, he was accepted, and treated with respect here.

It was his very first day when he realized there would be a marked difference in the way he would be treated on his mother's homeworld compared to how he had been treated on his father's homeworld. He'd gone through the tour with every other new cadet, had visited the medical bay to ensure his inoculations were up to date, visited the quartermaster for his uniforms, communicator, and PADD, and then shown to the dormitory where he met his roommates, Aaron and Craig.

"So, Spock, you hear about the Ghost Cab yet?" Craig asked.

"Ghosts do not exist. Therefore, there cannot be such a thing as a Ghost Cab," Spock had answered as he put his neatly folded uniforms into his footlocker.

"So, you don't believe the legend of the Ghost Cab that's haunted this city since 1906, when the great earthquake knocked this city to it's knees?" Aaron asked.

"I do not," he replied.

But he could see by the complete lack of malice in the boys' smiles that they meant no harm in their teasing. It was amiable rather than hateful.

It was a welcome change from what he was accustomed to, so he decided to humor them and ask a follow-up question. "What is the Ghost Cab?"

"It's said to pick up passengers on lonely nights, when there are few people around to witness it. According to the legend it looks for passengers who have an unfulfilled need and takes them where they need to go, rather than where they think they want to go."

"Absurd," Spock said, earning jovial laughter from his roommates.

He grew quite close to those boys over the next three years. They taught him many things, most of which he hadn't wanted to learn, like how to sneak extra food from the cafeteria, and where to hover their shuttles so they can watch concerts for free at the Academy Stadium. They also taught him how to loosen up, enjoy a good drink, dress for a date (even though he'd never managed to land one), and not be quite so afraid to show emotion.

As a senior, however, they were allowed private rooms, and they'd all taken advantage of it. Gone were the nights he would be locked out of the dorm room until late at night with one or the other of his roommates when one of the guys had a date over. He was the only one, he'd noted, that had never locked his roommates out to entertain a hookup.

What would it be like to meet someone and have sex? He'd often asked himself that question, but with increasing frequency of late. He wanted to meet someone. He wanted to know what it felt like to be balls deep in a woman who moaned his name and scratched his back as he thrust into her. Such thoughts were increasingly on his mind.

Yet every time he went out to a nightclub in an effort to meet someone he inevitably clammed up with every woman who displayed an interest in him, which was rare, considering most people thought Vulcans only mated once every seven years and couldn't perform in between, or didn't have the desire to, or would simply be a boring, emotionless lay. None of those things were true, of course, but the stereotype acted as a cock-block nonetheless.

Tonight, rather than go out looking for sex, Spock decided to engage in the pursuit of knowledge, which he always considered to be a worthy endeavor. Having moved everything into his new, private room, Spock checked his credit balance and decided he'd take a public transporter to the San Francisco Library to study the history of the city. He'd learned quite a bit about San Franciso, but he wanted to go further back in history. Perhaps he'd start at that earthquake his old roommates had mentioned his first day at the Academy.

As he headed toward the public transporters, however, an old-style yellow cab pulled up to the curb beside him and the rear passenger door swung open. Most cabs were automated, so it surprised him to see a woman behind the controls. She turned and smiled at him.

"Good evening, lad," she said by way of greeting. "Might I interest you in a ride tonight, rather than the transporters?"

Spock looked up and down the street. It was fairly empty, especially for a Friday night. Perhaps, he reasoned, everyone was still in the clubs, or the cinemas, and would flood the streets at a later hour.

"I've had a pretty boring night," she said. "It would be good to have a fare."

"Very well," Spock said, and slipped into the back seat.

"So, where you headed?"

"The San Francisco main library."

"Ah, young man, no," the woman said, pulling away from the curb and starting down the street. It was then he noticed she had a slight Irish accent. "A lad such as yourself doesn't need the library. Not on a Friday night. No, what you need is a pretty lassie to capture your attention."

Spock considered the woman. Middle-aged, black hair, black eyes, and a kind smile. Her clothes, he thought, were quite old-fashioned, like something that would be worn in the early twentieth century. A costume, perhaps. The console of her cab was dark. She navigated with an old-fashioned steering wheel.

"This cab is unlike others I have seen," he noted.

"Indeed it is," she said. "I like a vintage ride. It tends to attract more fares in the day."

She continued weaving her way through the streets until the library came into view up ahead. Spock took out his card and prepared to offer it for a scan, but the woman drove right past the library.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I wanted to stop at the library."

"I know you did," she said, and continued driving. She made a turn, and then another, showing no signs of slowing down.

Was he being kidnapped? Should he call for help?

"Madam, I would appreciate it if you stopped the vehicle so I may exit."

"This might sound strange to you, lad, but I know what you've been longing for. I know where you need to be. You want companionship. Sex. And rightfully so at your age."

"I beg your—"

"It's perfectly natural for a young man like you to want to sew his wild oats. Healthy, even. But you haven't had any luck, have you? Likely because you haven't found the right girl. Someone you'd be comfortable with."

Spock sat in the back seat, completely dumbfounded. Was this seemingly human woman some kind of telepath? Had she read his thoughts without him sensing an invasion of his mind?

"Well, you'll have luck here. All you have to do is keep an open mind."

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a club Spock had never heard of before. It was old-fashioned, devoid of any sort of gaudy lights like most modern clubs. The building was made of red brick and mahogany, sitting slightly apart from the buildings on either side of it. The cab door swung open.

"Now, laddie, listen here, and listen good. The woman you will have success with is inside. All you have to do is keep an open mind and remember not to be so judgmental. Come off your high horse and you will finally get what you want most. Dance with her. That's how you open that particular door. Now off you go."

"I have not paid you for your services."

She waved him away. "Just go and have a good time. Eat a little, drink a little, love a lot. Off you go."

Spock climbed from the back of the cab and looked for it's registration number. It simply said 00. He turned his attention to the club and saw its name in bronzed letters: Cable's. He turned back to the cab, to ask the woman how she'd known so much about his recent thoughts and desires, but the cab was gone. He searched the nearly deserted street, and looked into the sky in case it had, even unlikely, flight capabilities, but it was nowhere to be seen. How had it vanished in mere seconds, without making a sound?

Wondering how he'd gotten himself into such a situation, when all he'd wanted to do was go to the library, Spock decided to enter the club. As soon as the door was open he heard the thudding of the music. The bass was enough to reverberate through his body, and he needed a moment for his sensitive ears to adjust to the noise.

It was larger on the inside than he expected. A crowd of people moved on the dance floor while a DJ played music for them to dance to. There was a bar to his right, and one to his left, and a stage directly ahead. Tables surrounded the dance floor, and most were occupied. Nearly everyone in attendance was human, though there were a few offworlders mingling in the crowd. Unsurprisingly, none of those inside were Vulcan.

Feeling self-conscious by merely standing at the door, Spock moved to the bar on his left, where there were several empty stools. He sat on one and the bartender, a tall man with long white hair and light blue skin, came over to him. His eyes seemed to blink as nictitating membranes open and shut over them.

"What can I get for you?"

"I will have a—"

"He'll have tequila. Two shots each."

Spock recognized that voice at once. It wasn't a welcome one. He looked to the woman who'd taken the stool beside him.

"Michael," he said, looking her over. He'd always known her to wear dark clothes completely void of any sort of personality or color. That was not the case tonight. Tonight she wore a short, backless, pink dress that was almost indecently sheer. She also wore makeup, and had braided her hair.

She was stunning.

"Hello, Brother," she said, smiling at him. "Long time no see."

* * *

The bartender set out four shot glasses on the bar and filled them each with expert ease. Spock moved to pay but she stayed his hand.

"I've got a tab," she said. "It's on me."

He wasn't sure whether to get up and leave or stay. His eyes focused on her and so much old pain flooded him. Her smile faltered before she bit her lower lip.

"Come on. One drink."

Keep an open mind. Don't be judgmental. Come off your high horse. Eat a little, drink a little, love a lot.

The cabbie's words came back to him as he regarded Michael. After a few moments of her regret-filled gaze, Spock took his first shot.

"Thank you," he said.

Michael smiled, her shoulders giving a little in relief, as though an invisible weight had been visibly lifted from her.

"You and I were in the Academy together for two years, never ran into one another," she said, downing her first shot. "Strange how we would end up here, drinking together."

"Not so very strange," he said, and recounted the strange cabbie's odd behavior.

"She just brought you here?" Michael asked, her brows raised. "Without your permission?"

"She claimed to know where I need to be."

"She wouldn't have been a middle-aged woman with black hair and black eyes, wearing old-fashioned clothes, and had an Irish accent? Old-fashioned grounded cab, number 00?"

Spock nodded. "That is a perfect description of her and her vehicle. She refused payment."

Michael burst into laugher and punched him on the arm. "You've developed a sense of humor since you came to the Academy!"

"Hardly," he said, though she was right. He had worked on his sense of humor, but he wasn't joking now.

"Spock, I'm not falling for the Ghost Cab story."

"The Ghost Cab?"

"You saying you haven't heard of it?"

"I was told of it by my roommates my first day at the Academy," he said. "However I fail to see what it has to do with tonight."

"You just gave the most common description of the Ghost Cab and it's driver," she said. "You're telling me you came here with her in the Ghost Cab?"

"Not at all. I'm telling you I came here in a vintage cab, driven by a middle-aged woman with black hair, black eyes, old-fashioned clothes, and a cab registered as 00."

"Fine, Spock. Have it your way," said Michael, shaking her head. "Two beers, barkeep."

She motioned for him to follow her to an empty table beside the dance floor. She downed half her drink and watched Spock do likewise.

"You look good," she said. "You've really grown into those ears of yours."

"Thank you." But he was sure she was teasing him. He just didn't know if it was malicious or not.

"I'm joking, Spock. Your ears were always proportionate to your head."

A waitress set a bowl of peanuts on the table. Michael began to shell a few and pushed some toward Spock.

Eat a little, drink a little, love a lot.

He took some of the peanuts and shelled them. It gave him something to do with his hands as he tried to avoid looking at Michael.

"How long are you going to punish me?" she asked.

"I am not here to punish you. I am here to look for—" He almost said a woman to hook up with. He didn't think his foster sister would be keen to hear he was looking to, as his human roomies had so crudely but aptly put it, get his dick wet.

"To look for?" she questioned.

"It isn't important."

Michael shrugged and took another deep pull off her beer. The music changed, going to a much slower tempo, and her face lit up.

"I love this song. Dance with me, Spock."

Dance with her.

Spock couldn't have been anymore shocked if Michael had grown her own set of pointy ears before his eyes. The cabbie had told him to dance with her. Surely she hadn't meant Michael of all people. The woman who'd hurt him so deeply as a child he'd never fully recovered, even though as an adult he understood her actions. It was folly to hold her mistakes against her, yet he couldn't quite shake it. He'd loved her. She'd broken his heart.

"Vulcans do not—"

"Bullshit, you dance," she said, getting up and taking his hand. He allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor. He even allowed her to place his hands on her hips. He found the lyrics to the song to be quite intimate.

Lay me down. Press into me. Baby, open your mouth. I want to feel you breathe…

"I am not certain this song is appropriate for a brother and sister to dance to."

"If we were brother and sister I'd agree." Michael said.

She looked up at him with glassy eyes and a dreamy smile.

You slither under my skin. You take me too high. It's such sweet sin to feel you moving inside…

Michael was very close now. Her body was warm and soft, yet lithe and strong. She turned so he was to her back and she began to sing the lyrics.

My breath comes short and my pulse climbs high. I'd die just to feel you. I'd kill for another ride. Give me all of you and I'll give you all of me. Sink your teeth in deep. So deep I have to scream…

At some point Spock has tightened his grip on Michael, pulling her against him until their hips swayed in synch.

Show me no mercy. Make me cry and bleed. Show me no mercy. Take everything from me…

He told himself it must've been the alcohol that made him grind against her ass, but that he knew that wasn't so. His inhibitions were too low considering how little alcohol he'd consumed. Was he truly so desperate for a physical connection? He was willing to do things he knew he'd regret in the morning if it meant she'd grind against him just a little harder tonight. Thoughts of their past on Vulcan went forgotten in the heat of the moment on the dance floor. There was no yesterday. There was no tomorrow. There was only right now.

Another song played. The lights strobed, pulsing to the beat of a fast song. Being Vulcan meant Spock had a high tolerance for heat, but the humidity in the room made him sweat. Or maybe it was Michael turning to face him in the dim light, her eyes black with need. Bodies pressed around them, every couple focused on their partner. Spock and Michael being no different. He gripped her bottom and pulled her against him so tightly only her tiptoes remained in contact with the floor.

There were no lyrics now. There was only the bass thudding in their chests. There was only the feel of her body pressed to his, her hips wantonly grinding against the erection aching in his pants. It was indecent the way they pressed together, moaned together, ached for one another in the same way every couple around them ached for their partner.

When the song ended Michael pulled Spock to their table. They downed their beers and Spock wondered if he should ask her to leave with him, or if he should flee and never look back. The desire to make a bad choice was easy while alcohol and a hard dick beat his judgment into compliance.

"You're a senior so have your own room now, don't you?" Michael asked.

Spock could only nod. His voice fleeing him. He didn't object when she took his hand and walked past the bar, scanning her credit chip to settle her tab.

"You have a transporter for your patrons?" Michael asked.

The bartender nodded to the back. There was a hallway next to the stage that led to three transporter pads. Spock keyed in his destination and clearance code.

"Two to beam out," he said, finding his voice again.

* * *

The lobby of the dorm tower was getting crowded with rowdy, drunk cadets returning from a night of partying. Spock and Michael went largely unnoticed as they took a crowded turbolift to Spock's floor and jumped out. He led her into the room directly across from the lift.

"I was housed right next door my senior year," Michael said, entering his quarters. Like all the others it was a single room with a tiny kitchen, a food replicator, and a separate bathroom. Nothing fancy, but it was private.

He stood facing her, still, waiting to see what she'd do next. Had it all been a tease? Now that they were alone would she leave him with a stiff cock and blue balls?

His mind went to some of the tips his roommates had given him. Offer her a drink. Then sit very close to her on the couch and put an arm around her. But all he had to offer for a drink was tap water and he hadn't procured a couch yet. He only had his standard sized, Academy-issue bed with scratchy regulation sheets. Spock suddenly wished he'd suggested they go back to her place. Surely she'd actually spent a night in her place and had decorated.

"I know that look," Michael said, leaning on the windowsill and regarding him. "You're feeling self-conscious about something."

"Why would I be self-conscious?"

"You tell me."

It would be pointless to lie to her. He'd never been any good at deception, and Michael was too good at seeing past it.

"I only moved in today and have not had time to personalize my unit," he said. "I have also not procured any beverages—"

"Oh, Spock," she said, speaking over him and laughing as she did it. His back stiffened at once and she approached him with slow steps. "Down boy. I was only laughing at how adorable you've become. You've changed so much from who you were when we lived together on Vulcan."

"Is change not what everyone should strive for?"

"It is," she said, walking around him, appraising him. "You're no longer that skinny kid I remember, either."

Michael came to stand before him and ran her hands up his arms, stopping to squeeze his biceps, and then skim over his pecs. Her gentle touch made his pulse quicken.

"You don't neglect your legs at the gym, I see," she said. Her voice had gotten deep, throaty, with the unmistakable smoky quality of lust. "Your thighs are good and thick. You've just gotten firm all over."

She was deliberately slow in running a hand over his thigh, and up, higher and higher until her hand brushed his balls. He hissed in a breath as blood rushed low and his dick hardened, straining against his pants as though consciously trying to get free.

"Oh yeah…you're firm all over."

He gulped, his mind trying to think of a response that would be as arousing as he found her words now, but he came up blank. He had never been able to master flirting, or the double entendre. Now that he thought about it, all he'd ever done was read about sex. Watched porn. He'd never experienced it.

He'd heard virgin men had notoriously poor stamina, but he hoped he would be the exception. He had studied control of his mind his entire life. How difficult would it be to control his body? Surely the same techniques would work? He prayed it would, because her hand was now stroking his dick, and he was throbbing so hard he was sure he could reach completion in his pants simply from her hand against him.

"Spock?"

He raised an eyebrow. He didn't trust his voice.

"Have you had sex yet?"

His silence was answer enough. Michael bit her lower lip and removed her hand. He immediately mourned its absence and his hips bucked forward, seeking her out for contact, hoping for some relief for the stiffness in his trousers.

"I see," she said and backed away.

"Does my virginity repel you?" he asked. He hadn't felt this vulnerable since the last time she retreated from him.

"Not at all. I just want to make certain it's good for you."

He sighed his relief and watched her hold out her hand. He took it and she led him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. She knelt before him and removed his shoes and socks, and then helped him slip off his tunic taking her time unveil his body. The cabbie briefly came to mind. Regardless of whether she was a supernatural creature, her predictions had come true, and she'd taken him where he needed to be, rather than where he thought he should have been.

"Lay back," she said, uncharacteristically gentle with him as he positioned himself at the center of the narrow bed. He wished he'd invested in a good one that was roomier and softer, with better sheets.

But Michael was too pragmatic to be concerned with such things as the ugly, rough, Academy-issue sheets, or the hardness of the mattress. Right now, the only hardness she seemed concerned with was the erection straining against his zipper. She undid his trousers with expert hands and then pulled them, and his boxer briefs, down until he was free of them and completely naked on the bed.

"Well, you've become a big boy, haven't you?"

Spock looked down at the erection that lay against his belly. He'd never considered himself very lengthy, not like the men in the vids he'd watched in his effort to understand sex, but he had plenty of girth.

His eyes moved to Michael, who now stood undressing before him. She kept her eyes on him as she reached up and unclasped the dress. She watched him watch the dress fall away from her body and land in a pile at her feet. The only thing she had left was a pair of sheer pink panties that were scandalously tiny and did nothing to hide her womanhood. He gulped, hoping to keep himself from literally drooling at the sight of her. She hooked her thumbs into the panties, but he held up a hand.

"May I?"

He reached for her and pulled the panties off. The smell of her soap was stronger as her body warmed under his touch.

"Lay back."

Spock obeyed and tried to control his breathing. His instinct was to pant, trying to keep up with his rapidly thudding heart. It wasn't until Michael straddled him that it fully hit him what was happening, and who it was happening with. He looked up at her. He well knew every curve of her face, the sparkle in her eyes. He was glad it was her and not a stranger, despite their history, despite having grown up together in the same house. She was this sister who was not a sister, this friend he couldn't get along with. This woman he was so desperate to feel from the inside.

He wasn't prepared for how good it would feel when she settled over him. She was warm, slick, and he moaned as though he'd penetrated her. It felt better than anything he'd experienced so far, because so far it had only ever been his own hand, lubricated with lotion, in frantic jerks in the shower hoping his roommates wouldn't hear him giving in to increasingly desperate desires for sex.

He could feel her lips over him as she took him into her slit as much as she could. Then she began to move her hips, rubbing over his cock with gentle rolls of her hips. He almost came undone. He almost gripped her thighs too hard and lifted his hips off the bed in a desire to be inside her. All the way inside her. He was almost tearfully relieved when she stopped moving. He struggled to control his breathing, to use the same techniques to control emotion to control his body but it didn't work as well as he'd hoped.

"Open your eyes," Michael said. "You'll want to see this."

Sweat was already beading on his skin. He reached for her breasts, gripping them in his hands, feeling the stiff peaks of her nipples against his palm.

"Look," she said.

He looked down to see her lifting up. She reached behind and took him in hand, guided him to her entrance, and then began to sink onto him. He watched himself slowly disappear into her body, felt the slick, almost hot walls of her pussy surround his taut, sensitive flesh, and this time his hands did grip her hips a little too hard. She hissed, and it took everything in him to loosen his grip.

"Michael…"

His voice was nothing but a strangled whisper. Her face, like his, was a mask of pleasure that was nearly indistinguishable from pain as she settled over him. She moaned as she took him in. He felt her body tense around him, squeezing him so tight he was sure he'd come right then. The scent of her arousal filled his senses, made him so heady he felt high. He couldn't imagine it getting any better than this until she lifted up. This time he felt her moving around him until just the head of his cock remained inside. Then she slid down again, her body relaxing as she adjusted to him, but still tight and slick and warm. She lifted, lowered, lifted, her pussy rubbing and squeezing him, making him feel pleasure he would never have believed it was possible to achieve.

Instinctively, Spock lifted up, his hands moving to her legs again. Just when he didn't think it could get better, moving his body with hers proved to him that it could. His dick was so sensitive he could feel the texture of her body in exquisite detail. He'd never believed in an afterlife, but if paradise was real, even it couldn't compare to this.

She was moaning with him now, getting wetter and slicker around him. He gripped her by the throat and pulled her down, pressing his lips to hers before invading her mouth as deeply as he invaded her pussy. He pumped his hips, the friction increasing with the speed of his thrusts. She broke the kiss, moaning in a way that almost sounded like weeping. And when he felt her come, coating his cock and his balls, making her impossibly slick, he knew it was ok to finally let go.

He'd come before but never like this. Never this hard. Never this much. His body stiffened, now beyond his control. He emptied his balls into her, going as deep as he could, and feeling her flutter around him even as his own cum leaked out of her and over his balls.

He looked into Michael's eyes. For the first time he couldn't read her, but he knew she was as emotional as he was in that moment. He felt oddly vulnerable, but it wasn't frightening, or unwelcome. He kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, all while he softly stroked the sweaty flesh of her back.

"Stay," he whispered. The thought of her getting up and leaving was unbearable, but he feared she would do just that. Michael was, after all, good at running.

But she surprised him with her answer. She moved to lay beside him, wrapped one leg over him, and sighed as she stroked his chest.

"Yes, Spock. I'll stay."


End file.
